


Another Sunrise With My Sad Captain (With Who I Choose to Lose My Mind)

by BelieveMePlease



Series: here and now and who we are [2]
Category: Rugby Union RPF
Genre: Coley gets a line too, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Roles by Eddie and the backs, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-28 20:16:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14456931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelieveMePlease/pseuds/BelieveMePlease
Summary: Already George could tell the day ahead would be a long endurance of Owen's sulky petulance; he'd had more of them than not in the week passed. He wasn't too worried now, his nerves at waking up alone having been settled with the reciprocation of his affections; but Paris had been five days ago now and George had never known Owen to take a loss beyond the last pitch-side handshake. Still, tired as he was, he wasn't going to complain about watching the sunrise with Owen - moments of this serene peaceful calm were fewer and further between than when they were younger.Takes place in the week after Paris and proceeding the Ireland game. When you're rivaled against the one you love, only one of you will be left beating benches. But at what cost?





	Another Sunrise With My Sad Captain (With Who I Choose to Lose My Mind)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how this ended up the length of a short novella. Basically just an outpouring I've wanted to write since I first saw the squad selection for the Ireland game. I'm sorry it took so long, but if you can cast your minds back and glaze over the clichés without cringing too much, I hope you can enjoy it.  
> Usual disclaimers apply.  
> Title and inspiration from My Sad Captains by Elbow

_Thursday 15th March 2018_

Bitter wind is what roused him. There was a freezing circulation of air and the hissing of a thousand tornados ripping through the previously heated room at Pennyhill and the mere tog of the duvet no longer seemed to be enough. George frowned in his semi-conscious state as his arm flailed helplessly in search of a lost warmth; arms he had dozed to sleep in, fingers that had him purring like a cozy kitten as they sleepily groomed his hair, legs that entwined his own - the rose vines of love and safety. Fear of these being missing is what had his eyes flying open to pierce the dark with a blue in wonder. Only to be met with the ballooning of curtains as they resisted a hurricane, white cotton of widowed brides crying the tears of the rain beating against them. Loss of such George's clouded confusion could only try to comprehend.

Despite taking a moment to register, George realised the balcony doors were wide open and the soft silhouetted shadow cast in the beginnings of an overcast sun explained, relieving the absence beside him. In his moment of worry, George didn't want to spare a second to consider the reasons Owen would have left the doors broadly open enough to cast in the cruel weather of the outside world, but he couldn't help it. A smile almost graced his face as he considered the protective nature Owen could never quite conceal even in the most menial moments. When Owen had stood to leave the room, whatever his reason was, he was leaving behind the most precious thing in his life; an unattended treasure that he feared, did he not keep half an eye on, would be stolen away from right between his fingers. The warmth this flooded into George's heart allowed him to forget the chill long enough to sit, stand, wonder bravely into the harshness of the world, a brush against dampened curtains the last semblance of safety before even that was gone.

Bare feet on cold puddles cooled against concrete was a grimness strong enough to pull a shudder up through George's spine, but it was the last thing on his mind as his arms coiled around the waist he had been searching for. The divot between Owen's shoulder blades was a space seemingly intentionally perfect for George to rest his head and let his tired eyes flutter closed again. He frowned once more at the trembles rippling rhythmically through Owen's body, felt in George's chest as he held him tight and whispered, "Bubba, you're so cold."

Owen didn't reply and it startled George when he turned suddenly in his arms. Bringing a hand to rest securely on George's jaw, Owen titled the head falling a good few inches shorter than his own up a little further before smiling briefly and leaning down. Their lips collided deeply and George almost considered pulling back to take a deeper lungful of air, not having anticipated the instant intensity. As the interweaving meanders their thoughts were, however, Owen grabbed him tighter, hands clasping at the back of his head and in the soft fabric at his shoulders of Owen's own t-shirt swamping over George's body as his only protection from the wind and rain. Mouths moving in perfect sync, they performed easily the art they had rehearsed and mastered over many years. The heat of tongue against tongue felt like the first rays of sun beginning to pulse, the sparking flame of one tiny match in the raging storm of the weather around them was enough to keep both of them grounded to the spot despite the tempest.

Without separating so much as a centimetre, their positions turned and George felt himself lifted gently until the ice cold of the wet metal railing came into contact with his sleep sensitive skin. The raindrops staining the steel soaked instantly through the back of George's briefs making him grimace, but still he didn't draw back. Owen's kiss seemed to sweeten in a way that assured George he would always be safe, no matter the six-story drop behind him. With the way Owen squeezed his hip tight and splayed his arm up the vertical of George's back, how could he ever feel in danger?

So, when finally they breathlessly parted, George was the one chasing the comfort, hands braced of the broad strength of the chest before him to support the gentle lean forward. The arm at his back snuck higher, however, until fingers were squeezing softly at the base of his neck and holding him still just millimetres short of his target. Disgruntled whine was quickly replaced with a grin spreading warmly in its place as Owen tentatively brushed their noses together in the most intimate touch. George let out a soft hum and looped his arms lazily around Owen's neck, finally escaping the breath restricting closeness a moment long enough to fix Owen with a worried look.

Owen simply smiled sadly and leaned up to press a fleeting flutter against George's forehead before he could ask anything, holding him steady on his otherwise precarious perch, "Don't look at me like that, Georgie, I'm alright."  

Letting Owen know he didn't believe him, George fixed him with another glare before leaning forward for a hug. As worried as he was, he was still exhausted at having been woken before dawn so he rested his head on Owen's shoulder and hooked his feet under the lower railing bar to hold himself in place. Owen's hands began to circle rhythmically over George's small torso and inhaled the honey scent of his hair deeply. George wasn't quite sure which of them Owen was trying to comfort more, "Tell me."

Huffing only slightly, Owen shuffled closer once again and forced George's legs open as he settled to stand between them. He kissed the crown of George's head a couple of times before turning his head to rest his cheek against the soft hair there.

"Tell me," George said again a little more fiercely and Owen lightly shook his head as if to say _it's nothing_. George almost growled as he pushed Owen just far enough away to allow himself to slip down to standing and gaze up at him with a sapphire fire behind his eyes, "Owen."

"George," Owen tried to fix back, but he ended up sighing in defeat -he never could deny George, "What everyone wants me to be, what they expect, I... I can't do it, Georgie, I don't have it in me."

"What do you mean?" George's brow furrowed slightly and he took Owen's hand in his at their sides, thumb moving in soft circles.

Beholding him momentarily, Owen considered telling him then. Even if he could have found the words, he didn't want to see George upset just then, "I'm all out of miracles. I can't do it all anymore, can't be the perfect kicker, perfect player, perfect captain. Saturday..."

George squeezed his hand tightly and consoled him with a softening of the eyes, "You did great on Saturday, Owen. Captain or not, you're not responsible for the whole team's mistakes."

The rain had stopped and the sun was beginning to climb steadily higher in the sky like the beam of hope Owen had been waiting for hours to see. Light was framing George perfectly, beams falling around his face like he was laid in a bed of pink and orange flowers on the riverbed of the clouds behind him. This was the beacon of hope Owen had been waiting all night, all week for, he'd just been too blind to see it had been in bed right beside him. There was nothing more he could say.

"Come inside now, yeah?" George filled in when Owen remained silent. Letting go of Owen's hand, he brought both palms up to press against the strength of the abdomen before him and gazed up from under the flicker of his eyelashes, "Come back to bed."

Owen shook his head, "I couldn't sleep now if I tried."

Scowling at that, George wrapped his arms fully around Owen's middle, hauling himself close enough to dig his chin into Owen's sternum. His neck tilted uncomfortably as he continued to stare unwaveringly into Owen's eyes who petted his hair in a silent apology, "Then come cuddle. You're all cold and wet and I'm knackered still, I want a proper hug."

Again, Owen didn't say a word. Leaning his head down through the awkward angle, he left a brief kiss on George's lips before unravelling the arms wrapped tightly around him. Before George had the chance to complain at the loss of contact, Owen turned him and quickly returned the embrace from behind and rested his chin atop George's head. The rising sun, so low in the sky, got instantly caught in George's eyes and he was left squinting as he looked out over the streets far in the distance just beginning to be revived in the morning bustle.

"Owen?"

"Shh" Owen landed another kiss right on the crown of George's head and nuzzled there for a moment, letting his eyes fall closed, "Just watch this with me."

Already George could tell the day ahead would be a long endurance of Owen's sulky petulance; he'd had more of them than not in the week passed. He wasn't too worried now, his nerves at waking up alone having been settled with the reciprocation of his affections; but Paris had been five days ago now and George had never known Owen to take a loss beyond the last pitch-side handshake. Still, tired as he was, he wasn't going to complain about watching the sunrise with Owen - moments of this serene peaceful calm were fewer and further between than when they were younger.

When the sun reached an uncomfortable eye level, Owen left George's waist in favour of taking him by the hand and pulling him back into the cold room. It could have been a sauna in comparison to the chill Owen finally shut out with a pull of the balcony doors.

George groaned as he felt his tiredness ebb away from him. He knew he'd feel shattered before the end of training, but there was no way he could force his body into sleeping anymore. Despite George's own annoyance, though, he knew Owen would be feeling the lack of sleep a lot worse than he was; he wasn't sure just how long Owen had been standing out there. If the soaked state of his pyjamas and the bloodshot in his eyes were anything to go by, it was long enough to make George frown in concern once again.

"You won't come back to bed?" George questioned when he noticed Owen rifling through his half packed suitcase and pulling out clean training kit. Owen shook his head as he began to peel away the soaking layers clinging to his skin, "Owen, you look exhausted. At least just come lie down for a bit."

"I'm gonna go get some kicks in before training," Owen said as he towelled himself off. George deflated at that, shoulders sagging and eyes casting down. Even after years of practice, George still felt useless when Owen got into one of his moods, "Come with me?"

That was unexpected. Normally revelling in a silent, lonely focus, George fully anticipated Owen to disappear and see not sight or sound of him for hours, "Yeah?"

Owen shrugged as he slowly dragged the clothes onto his body, languid motions evidential of his exhaustion, "Only if you want to."

George couldn't help the small smile as he gathered his own kit, "Yeah, I... yeah I do."

He dressed quickly, blushing slightly at the way Owen stared, sat quietly at the end of the bed. The fierce look that seemed to catch in Owen's eye never failed to send a shiver down George's spine - like he was a breakaway about to be dragged into touch or a ball steady on the tee at Owen's mercy.

Just as he went to lace his training boots, Owen finally approached him, stare never wavering as he hauled George from his crouch, "Can't have you getting cold, Georgie," Owen raised George's arms and promptly pulled a hoodie over him. Everything about it should have been wrong. It was Sarries, a black that fell loose around him, a logo he shouldn't represent; not even a peak of his fingers could be seen beneath the swamping of the sleeves. Yet it felt right. The plastering of 'Farrell' across the back brought a rosy tint out on George's face once again. Perhaps the overwhelming domesticity or maybe a hopeful glimpse into the possible realities of his own near future.

"Perfect."

The training pitch was damp to say the least. Constant drizzle over night hadn't been enough to turn it to marsh, but still George was left groaning internally at every drip of mud and clad of grass he felt chasing at his calves. Every kicked tee was slicing up divots  like a golf club on a fairway, little ankle twisters to annoy the team later. Though nothing seemed to throw Owen. With barely a word to George, he slotted kick after kick, no pressure and no falter. George was happy, awed to watch until the loyal patience wore thin.

Charging the kick down was wishful at best, arms held high and expecting to hit nothing but empty air, eyes closed at the probability of getting a ball to the face for his troubles. Instead there was the coarse collision of rubber to finger and a ricocheting bounce that somehow ended up in unsuspecting arms. All stood perfectly still for a moment, two equally shocked opposites holding each other in a firm astounded stare.

With the quirk of an eyebrow, deliberately slow, little legs were off with a start, ball clutched tightly to chest, scampering down field. It took only an instant for the chase to commence, thundering bulls hooves without a seconds thought for ancient injury. Interception verses defender, cat and mouse; driven all the way to the twenty-two until, finally, the very tip of a finger got a graze at fabric.

George squealed, more childish than effete, skipping further on despite the burning lungs and failing legs he felt flagging beneath him. But it was a lost cause, just as he knew it had been from the offset. Littler lad, littler drive. Lancaster's words that had him emptily beating benches for three seasons still rang so true, still left him perturbed.

Grabbed around the shoulders, intimate if it hadn't been defeating, "Come here, you," Owen growled, playful as ever, as he dragged them to the ground. They seemed to roll over each other endlessly, giggling like children in a way that had George's mind flashing back to hours spent together on pitches as teens; just the two of them long after all other company had departed. Years of courting leading them to where they are now. Finally coming to a stop, ball long lost behind them, Owen's arms framing George's face where they supported his weight as a heavy, hovering presence.

As the giggles died down they soaked each other in, breathlessly panting. The tight air their close proximity did nothing to help relieve their straining lungs, but Owen paid this no mind as he encroached further, noses bumping.

"Thought you'd have learnt you can't outrun me by now, Georgie," Owen smirked, endlessly arrogant in a way that made George resentful to appease.

"Bastard," George pouted but didn't refuse the apologetic kisses being feathered over his cheeks and lips, choosing his moment to deepen by winding his arms tightly under Owen's and squeezing around his ribcage to keep him close.

The interruption came as a loud, unsubtle cough which had George pulling abruptly away to peer over Owen's shoulder at their disrupter. Owen too was quick to rise up to his knees, flushing instantly when he saw the pitch-side gathering of their teammates and coaches smirking as they watched on. These moments were rare to their eyes, usually meticulously hidden and replaced with an air of cool professionalism. Maybe they'd see the entwining of their hands, or the pre-match cuddle, even a few drunken kisses from time to time -not that they wouldn't have been too drunk themselves to pay them any mind- but any more was concealed behind closed doors. Despite this normal demeanour, however, Eddie still didn't look pleased at their display, looming over the pair, arms crossed and eyebrow quirked - unimpressed.

"Not that I object to you getting extra practice, boys," Eddie began berating, "But this doesn't look much like training to me - don't miss breakfast again."

"Sorry," Owen mumbled, George echoing quickly. Owen wrapped his arms securely underneath George's back before he stood, hauling him up off the ground and setting him safely on his feet. With a quick brush down to remove the worst of the grass and a ruffle to George's hair, Owen backed away and jogged off. So much for their morning together, George thought, he hadn't realised just how long they'd been out there; so caught up in their own little world it had felt like no time at all.

George tried his best not to blush completely scarlet at the patronising head pats and whistles he received from the team flooding past him onto the pitch to set up for the warm up. "Such betrayal, Fordy," Cole shook his head, pointing to the Saracens embroidery decorating his chest. Nothing had changed. It was good to know that, despite their decision to, he and Owen needn't feel any reason to hide.

"What can I say?" George shrugged, grin spreading over pink tinted cheeks before trotting away to join the rest of the backs in their passing drills. Owen winked teasingly at him when he slotted into the circle ball ready in hand. At least the stormy brooding of the early hours seemed to have dissipated.

Morning training was more brutal than normal. There was a tense aura circulating, mirroring the atmosphere around camp throughout the week gone passed, and it did nothing to ease the lethargy and defeated pique that seemed to have encompassed the players in place of the once all consuming desires to win. Coaches were unforgiving in their corrections, embarrassing each and every one of them as though they were back playing for their teen clubs desperate not to be humiliated in front of their peers. If anything, it was worrying. Nothing could inject the same spark that had been slowly torn away through Edinburgh and Paris, agonisingly oppressing as everyone searched with cold futility for any kind of inspiration. Not even the possibility of preventing a Grand Slam seemed to galvanise a reaction, no one believed they could do it. By midday, no matter the cold weather, George's hair was plastered to his forehead, sweat dripping down his neck as the team sauntered off the pitch in search of food to re-energise.

"You haven't told him," George paused at the sound of Eddie's familiar Aussie tone, keeping a distance instead of approaching Owen where he was in close quartered conversation with their head coach. Neither noticed him loitering from his position, but he kept himself close enough to overhear the interaction, "He has to know by tonight at the very latest, Owen. I know it's bad timing with tomorrow being what it is, but it's being published tonight. You really should've told him sooner."

"I know, I know," Owen sighed, "I am trying, but words aren't exactly my strong point. I can never seem to get it out right." George would have laughed if he hadn't been so confused. Owen wasn't wrong, words didn't come easy to either of them when it was important.

"It'll be better for him to hear it from you," George didn't like the hunch of Owen's shoulders, the dip of his head alerting him to the anxiety he had become so accustomed to noticing. Eddie put a comforting had on Owen's shoulder, but if anything he just closed off more, "I want you to tell him, Faz, but if you don't then I have to."

George made sure to flee quickly before he could be caught listening, recognising that the conversation was coming to a close and making his way in for lunch. They must have been talking about him, that much wasn't hard to figure out, but what it could have been about had George stumped. Surely it couldn't be what they had done that morning. Eddie wasn't the biggest fan of their relationship coming with them to camp, but that was only because he didn't like any player being distracted; he'd always had their backs before. Unless he was just reading too much into it. Owen had been vice for a while, and Eddie was just really starting to trust him with proper captains duties. But if it had been about just any of the lads, then why would Owen look so stressed over it?

Huffing unhappily, George slumped down at lunch, starving and confused. He set himself away from the rest of the cliques knowing that Owen would be quick to join him as soon as he came in. Skipping breakfast to spend time with Owen was starting to feel as though it had been a bad idea as his stomach growled uncomfortably, so he exploited the benefits of the buffet by grabbing a plate and piling it high. Maybe food would do well to help his mind make sense of everything. Not that he had much of a chance to think before Owen was bounding over, taking his unspoken reservation across from George.

"Hey bubba," Owen greeted, all smiles despite his demeanour with Eddie just minutes ago. George narrowed his eyes slightly, Owen knew he could see right through him even if he hadn't witnessed the interaction, so he was even more intrigued by the attempt to cover it up. Whatever it was.

"Hi bub," George mimicked the smile and pet name, Owen was always more likely to open up if he felt comfortable, no pressure. Although, it seemed Eddie had already piled enough of that on making George's job much harder, "What's up?"

"Hmm, nothing much. Bit knackered, but aren't we all, eh?" Owen grinned, clearly equally as famished as George had been if they way he began to horse into his food was any indication, "Anyway, I was wondering what you wanted to do tomorrow? You haven't said anything about it, you're not afraid of getting old, are you, Georgie?"

"It's captain's run, babe, it's not like we're going to have much time to do anything anyway. And no," George pouted at him, "At least I wasn't until now. But if I'm old then what are you?"

"Alright!" Owen's eyes crinkled, but he reached a hand across the table to cover George's hand dropped his voice, a little more serious, "We have to do something though, bub, especially since you won't let me get you a proper present."

"There is one thing you can give me," Owen rubbed his thumb over the back of George's hand, indication he was still listening even as he continued to focus on his meal. It was a shot in the dark, really, risked Owen completely shutting him out, but George took the way in anyway, "Tell me what you and Eddie were talking about."

The way Owen's head shot up, eyes blown wide, was almost comically, but it only riled George's inner turbulent panic further. If it had been about anyone but him Owen would have just told him, nonchalant, he always did even if it was something George wasn't meant to know. It worried him that Owen was keeping things from him now; George hadn't thought Owen's captaincy would change anything between them, but maybe he had been wrong.

Owen coughed uncomfortably, casting his eyes down, "What do you mean?"

"Faz," George warned. The name alone was enough for Owen to know that George wasn't going to sit back and be brushed off. He squeezed George's hand tightly, knowing full well that it wasn't the place or time to do this, but he'd sort of exhausted that excuse as the week had worn on.

"It's... it was about Saturday,"

"France? Owen, you can't keep dwelling on that. You never normally do, what's going on?" George turned his hand in Owen's to entwine their fingers, returning the same comforting squeeze.

"No, no not that, about this Saturday. Just what the starting order is going to be and stuff," Owen locked his eyes on George, hoping that maybe he would infer the message without him actually having to say it. Though all he was met with was more confusion and Owen sighed, neglecting his food in favour of taking George's other hand as well and holding them both tight, "Eddie's starting me at ten and Te'O at twelve, but he's going to bring you on at half time or just after."

George was taken back, he almost flinched away from the hold Owen had on him, but the grip was intentionally tight, keeping him close. It was no surprise that Eddie wanted to try something big, wanted to try to catch Ireland out with something unexpected, but George never anticipated being the sacrificial lamb. For one of the first times ever he was genuinely pleased with his own performance for the majority of the tournament, not constantly second guessing himself or questioning his selection ahead of Owen. Perhaps he should have seen it coming, having him replaced at sixty minutes almost every game wasn't exactly the best testament to the coaches' faith in him, but he'd naively let himself be convinced that he was secure in his position. At least for the time being. "Oh," was all he managed to squeak out.

"I don't agree with him at all, Georgie and I promise I fought your corner so hard when the coaches told me, but you know how it is with us. They don't think I actually believe in you, which I do, I really do, but they just think I'm sticking up for you because of us, because I love you. Honestly, Georgie they'll bring you on at fifty minutes or whenever it is and everyone'll be saying that something had been missing before. I don't know why they've done it, Georgie, I really don't." Owen was rambling, refusing to look at George's shocked, sad eyes afraid he'd lose himself if he did. It had taken all week for him to finally force the words out and now he'd started he didn't want to stop, didn't want to hear the wavering in George's voice.

"When did they tell you?" George croaked, gazing down at where their hands were still tightly clenched together. Really he felt like crying, but he wasn't going to let himself be that weak. He should be used to people trying to force a rivalry between him and Owen by now, they'd been doing it since they first started playing together all those years ago.

"Eddie decided on Monday, and I-"

"What?" George looked up at that, gaze burning in a way that made it impossible for Owen to look away, "You've known all week and you didn't think to tell me? Were you even going to tell me now if I didn't ask you?"

Owen bit his lip at the rising of George's voice. No one had quite been roused from their own rowdy antics, but their disagreements wouldn't often stay quiet for long, "I would've, Georgie, I just didn't know how to say it, you know I'm shit with words. I didn't want to ruin your birthday and I know I've made it worse by leaving it so late, but I really was trying."

Laughing sarcastically, George tugged his hands away from Owen's, refusing to let himself be affected by the hurt look that flashed across Owen's face at the vicious movement, "How many opportunities have you had? This morning is a perfect example," George's voice had raised to a level impossible to ignore and the pair had gained the audience of the entire dining room, "Maybe you should've actually left it 'til tomorrow. Happy fucking birthday, right?"

The screech of George's chair as he stood abruptly to leave had Owen flinching and cowering, but George refused to pay him any mind. He knew full well it was unreasonable to be this angry with Owen, to take his upset and frustration out on him, but he couldn't help but feel hurt. Had their roles been reversed, George knows he would have struggled to break the news as well, but then, their roles never would be reversed. Childishly, he stormed from the room, batting away Jack's outstretched arm attempting to console him; he didn't care how he came across by this point, all he needed was to get out, to breathe.

Only Owen's shouted curse of frustration made him pause, out the door and halfway down the corridor. Tears sprung up in his eyes, this had stressed Owen out all week and now George had reacted in the exact way he'd been fearing the most. That shouldn't have caused an argument, he should've taken Eddie's decision on the chin, understood Owen's difficulty in trying to tell him about it and moved on. But when years' worth of work on building even a precarious sense of self-confidence are brought crashing down around you in matter of seconds, it isn't all that easy.

George went to his own room rather than Owen's, despite not having slept there once during their stay - the no roommate benefit Owen's captaincy gave them was one they had fully exploited. He didn't have a key, but he was pretty sure JJ was already in there getting ready for the afternoon's gym session. His old club mate had probably never looked more confused than when he opened the door to find the fly half he was supposed to have been rooming with all week. It all softened, however, when he noticed the water gathering in the corners of George's eyes; never had he been good at hiding his emotions.

"What's he done, mate?" George hated that the centre immediately knew, hated the way their team had to be affected by things that happened between them. For years they had promised that it would always be separate, teammates and partners, but it had been an empty attempt for a long time. Maybe even since the start. JJ put an arm around George's shoulder and pulled him into the private safety of the room to give him a brief hug, "What did he do?"

All George could do was shake his head, not trusting his voice. He felt so pathetic, everyone got benched and with the rivalry always put between him and Owen he should have been expecting it soon enough. But he'd battered benches, won empty cups for years and he'd only just learnt to have confidence enough in himself to believe that wasn't where he belonged anymore. No matter how much Owen had told him he was needed, that he brought so much to the team, it was only under Eddie's appraisal that he had truly started to believe it. Sure, it hadn't been entirely his fault, the lack of game time he used to see; everyone had been fully aware that Lancaster panicked about George and Owen's relationship and would search for any excuse to keep them off the pitch together. George remembers how irate Andy had become over it, how protected he felt in the family bubble that had cared for him in the early days, fought his corner when he wasn't able to. Moments like these he missed Ben the most. Always his rock when Owen couldn't be, the first person he could turn to; damn him and his stupid leg injury. Even in JJ's consoling embrace, one of his teammates who knew him best, someone he'd played with for years, he still felt desolate.

"Do you want stay here tonight?" JJ asked upon realising George had no answer, not that his silence wasn't answer enough. George pulled away from his friend, eyes downcast as he watched the way his own fingers fiddled with the cuffs of Owen's hoodie that he was still allowing to encompass him.

Lip trembling only slightly before he bit it down, George shrugged before quickly shaking his head, "He didn't even really do anything wrong, mate, I'm just overreacting. It's stupid really," George let out a shuddering breath, blinking away the water that he couldn't seem to shake from his eyes, "Apparently Eddie benched me for this game and Owen didn't tell me about it. Pathetic to be upset about it, I know."

JJ gave him a sad smile, "You know he probably just didn't want to hurt you. Not exactly the best birthday present, is it?"

"No, not really," George gave wry smile more akin to a grimace, but still managed a huffed laugh through it all, "I guess you're right though. God, he's so annoyingly loving, makes it too hard to be mad at him. Even if he has been a bit of an idiot."

"Yeah, but he's your idiot, though," JJ winked at him and George flushed red and gazed down to the floor in an attempt to cover the ridiculous smile that he couldn't keep from spreading across his face, "You alright now, buddy?"

"Fine thanks, mate, yeah," George gave him a thumbs up before turning to leave, "I should probably go and find my idiot, though. Wasn't too nice to him myself just now."

"Go get your man back, Faz," JJ was grinning like the Cheshire Cat as he nodded towards the name brandished across George's back. George only flipped him off playfully, his own grin mirroring, before he set off again. Something knotted a little inside him at his friends jovial comment, however. They'd been getting the same teasing for years now and they were both beyond used to the constant gripes. Maybe it was just the feeling of getting older with another pending birthday, but something about it didn't feel too funny anymore and the longing George felt tugging at his heart strings made it harder and harder to keep laughing along.

The gym fell a little too quiet when George walked in, everyone clearly trying not to stare at him too obviously, probably trying to cover up that they were just discussing the lunchtime incidents. Honestly, this team were worse gossips than George's entire year at secondary school sometimes. It only served to make him feel more foolish than he did, a cold anxiety spreading over him and making him want to grab Owen and flee as quickly as he could. Only, he couldn't see him anywhere.  

"Fordy!" Jack called when he sat up from the bench press and beckoned him over, "You okay, mate? What was all that about earlier? Faz looked bloody distraught when you left."

George squeezed his eyes shut for a moment at that, he hated knowing he'd genuinely upset Owen when he had only been angry over the most menial of things, "Nothing, mate, it was literally so stupid. Where is he, anyway?"

With a brief look of perplexity, Jack stood and gave his shoulder a light shake in consolation, "Strategy meeting with Eddie, Dyl and Browny. Remember?" George could've face palmed if his skin wasn't itching with just how much he'd already made a dolt out of himself that day, the feeling of crawling eyes of judgement gazing at him making feel as though he could shudder. Yes, he did remember. The afternoon of the day before captain's run was always reserved in the schedules of the captain and the vices for hours worth of strategic discussion with Eddie and the other coaches. Owen wouldn't be available for hours, left stressing and worrying over the events unleeshed at lunch, and George would have no way of consoling him.

"Fuck," George groaned, slouching down onto the bench press opposite the one Jack had just occupied.

Said winger tickled his fingers in George's hair for a moment, pulling his head to rest comfortingly against the sturdy structure of his own abdomen, "You sure everything's okay? Don't need me to knock him about a bit?"

George snorted at the mental image; there was no way Owen's pride would allow Jack to walk away from that without an array of bumps and bruises. Not that he'd tell his friend that. "I appreciate the offer, mate, but it's fine. I just overreacted is all," he looked up and smiled reassuringly at him.

Afternoons in the gym after an intensive morning of training, were always murderous, but that day felt particularly unforgiving. George's trainer seemed to have a vendetta to take out against his cardio vascular system, giving him an unrelenting onslaught of intensive hit and interval training. If that morning's brutal corrections from the coaches had been bad, they paled in comparison to the back-handed amendments to his lifting technique and passive insults to his comparatively dwindling strength. Not that George had bad relations with any members of the team, and he was well aware that it was a repercussion of his heightened sensitivity and guilt, but if the session had lasted a moment longer he felt he would have broken down on the gym floor. Everyone had already seen him act like a child that day anyway, so why not just add the final impressions? Luckily for his pride, however, dinner rolled around just in time to save him from any further embarrassment. Still no sign of Owen, though. Even when George had returned to their room to shower and mope around allowing his anxiety to grow until Anthony and JJ came to get him for dinner. They tried to keep their normal banter with him, and George appreciated the discretion, but the pitying looks he felt burning into him every time he looked away made him want to turn back and hide away for Owen to find later.

Most of the backs had gathered in one of the far corners in the dining room, vaguely split into club cliques, but even the rookies weren't really bothered by this point. George slotted in on the very end, proceeded by Ant and JJ, and smiled half-heartedly back at Jack who sent him a questioning glance from across before returning to whatever winger's debate he'd embarked on with Elliot and Johnny. For the time being, George decided against eating, stomach turning uncomfortably at the nerves that seemed to increase with each passing minute. Dylan and Mike weren't there yet either, George noted, knowledge that help settle the consternation that he was being avoided. Although, the constantly prying eyes of his curious teammates did nothing to calm his turbulence.  

Just as George was thinking of giving up and heading back to the room to wait alone, two arms came to wrap around his shoulders from behind, the familiar nuzzle against the back of his neck and gentle lips pressing a hidden kiss to the top of his spine. If the touch hadn't been so instantly relieving to the tight knots accumulated in his stomach, George would have flinched away from the startling invasion, but instead he just allowed himself be swayed from side to side in his seat for a moment. All the insecurities that warped day had concocted within him could finally begin to wash away from him.

"Hi baby," George barely whispered and revelled in the way Owen positively beamed against him at the assurance of the endearment. Although it was hidden away from his vision, George didn't need to see to know the way Owen's eyes were creasing at the corners, the tips of his ears peaking upwards in intrigue and the light blush of contentment and relief that would spread across both cheeks and up to the bridge of his nose. The patterns of Owen's every emotion were singed into his memory after years of careful study and George wouldn't seek to erase a single one of them.

"Hi," Owen echoed, squeezing George a little tighter as he sensed the gazes of those around them now shameless in their staring. No matter how many of Owen's emotions George could map by heart, _protect_ was unwaveringly primary, "Can we go talk, please, baby?" The reflected affection had George's heart re-warming, even allowing for confidence enough to ignore his fear of judgement as he nodded and allowed Owen to lead him away soundlessly. George let Owen half drag him to their room, flooding with warmth at the regularity of the comforting heated weight of Owen's hand in his own.

"I'm so sorry I didn't tell you sooner," Owen had George held in a perch on the edge of their neatly made bed, thumbs running backwards and forwards soothingly where his hands held George's hips, crouching on the ground in between his legs, beholding him even in the dim lighting of the room, "I promise I was trying, but I just kept thinking about you being upset over it and you know I can't bare that, Georgie."

"I shouldn't have taken it out on you, though," George reached out to twiddle Owen's short hair in between the tiniest peaks of his finger tips poking out from under the oversize of the jumper, "If it had been the other way round I would've found it hard too. I know it never would be, but still."

Owen frowned at George's nonchalant shrug and pinched affectionately at the slight love handles adorning George's hips, "Why wouldn't it be the other way round?"

"Please," George huffed out a bemused laugh when he encountered the genuine question weaved into Owen's brow, "Owen, come on. You know why. They're never going to bench you over me, I wouldn't want them to, it'd be suicidal for the team."

"No it wouldn't," Owen said truthfully and all George could do was laugh bitterly. That made Owen scowl. Surging forward, he heaved George's entire body against his own, switching their positions until George straddled over his lap and enveloped as much of him as his arms could manage. The lack of belief George held in himself tired Owen, but he wouldn't let himself rest until he could finally be assured that those devilish insecurities were entirely eliminated, "You're an amazing player, Georgie, when are you going to start believing me?"

"You have to say that," George whined quietly into Owen's neck, fingers still clutching, a little more desperately now, at the short hairs at the back of Owen's head.

A short trail of kisses were left along the expense of George's collarbone, straining in the attempt to console, "Of course I do, but I mean it too. Don't let Eddie's decision make you stop believing in yourself again, bub, I thought you finally realised that you're meant to be here." Tilting his head back and pouting cutely, George tried to reassure Owen that he was okay. Though the sadness behind the eyes he couldn't hide made Owen's heart clench a little and he clutched George a little closer, "I love you."

With a yawn, George nodded, "Love you too," he smiled tiredly.

"You tired?" Owen asked, hand stroking up the notches in George's back, feeling guilty for waking him up so early on such an arduous day. George nodded lethargically allowing his head to loll forward again, ear pressed to the hard bone of Owen's shoulder, the cold tip of his nose brushing into his jugular, "Let's have a nap for a bit, yeah? We'll get some food later."

"Okay," George whispered, eyes already beginning to flutter shut as he allowed Owen to handle him, tuck him comfortably under the crisp freshness of the new sheets before slotting in next to him and opening his arms for George to fall comfortably into.

"Dyl was saying that some of the lads wanted to go out for drinks later for your birthday, since we can't tomorrow," Owen played lazily with George's short hair where his head rested heavily on the strong chest beneath him, "You up for it?"

Tired and slightly disgruntled, George shook his head lightly, turning his face so it pressed fully against Owen, voice muffling, "Can't we just stay in and cuddle?"

Owen smiled and kissed the crown of George's head lovingly, "Sure thing, bubba. Sleep now."

So that's just what they did.

_Friday 16th March 2018_

Had you asked him the morning previous, George would have said there was no way he would have ended up here voluntarily just twenty four hours later. Still it was freezing, nothing had changed, apart from the glittering fragments of white snow settling in the previous place of pooling rain. Though, it was the beginnings of a frozen sun that really caught in George's eye. The comfort of the pink painting the sky, watching how it ebbed and flowed like the turbulent meanders describing the emotions of the day previous. It was no wonder this is what Owen had used to seek comfort - it was entrancing enough even to pull him away from the warm safety he had fluttered awake within. Although, mellifluous as the serene silence may have been, the emptiness felt at the lonely sunrise was enough to pull him back through the billowing widow curtains and into the bubble of assurance he had abandoned. That was, if that very assurance hadn't sought to him to haul him back into the safety he needed without having to move a muscle.

Those arms were encompassing in a way George knew. Memories of the first time he'd felt it was evanescent to him now, but the promise of future they brought with every embrace he experienced was one that would forever remain present. Soft lips against the hardness of his skull should have felt paradoxical, but the warm of familiarity they provided made any sense of that an impossibility. Their positions may have been reversed, but it was a moment so full of the intimacy that others had embodied over years that it could have been identical to any experienced between them before.

"Guess I'm a bad example, hmm?" Owen held George close to his chest, the solid presence of his back a weighted reminder that he wouldn't go anywhere, the glass in front keeping the cruel tempests locked away from them in a way that had been so ignored the day before, "You really should sleep some more. We were up long enough yesterday."

"Yeah, well, maybe I can see the appeal," George smiled, tipping his head all the way back to gaze up and Owen behind him. And that was the answer. Why would he watch the rise of the sun outside when all the light, the warmth, the source of life he needed was always there for him to see? Hold him close and console, "Looks pretty nice and all that."

Owen smirked at the ambiguous implications. People may call him arrogant, but he'd have nothing to base his confidence on if George wasn't always there as a constant feed on his ego, while still remaining  a question of how he had been lucky enough to obtain the life and support he exploited. This spurred the cluster of kisses littered over the top of George's head and down to the side of his neck that had him giggling and ducking away without any real intent of escape, "Come back for a cuddle?"

"In a minute, yeah," George breathed, returning his attention to the gold glow beginning to illuminate the streets in the distance, enlighten the room and its occupants to the possibilities and optimism of the potential the next two days may hold for them. A victory may have been impossible to revive, but they still had time to let themselves believe there was a potential, "Just watch this with me for now."

"You don't have to ask, bub," Owen whispered, "Happy birthday."

"Couldn't be happier."  

**Author's Note:**

> If you stuck with this mess of my post-nations emotions, I appreciate you a lot more than you know.  
> Kudos and comments are always adored.


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